


A Most Foolish Act

by dharma22



Series: Faeneth Lavellan Canon [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heavy Angst, Some angst, major angst, no happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-19 08:57:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20654567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dharma22/pseuds/dharma22
Summary: Solas returns to Skyhold to once again lay eyes on Lavellan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Something quick that popped into my head. It's pretty short and to the point. I have ideas to continue this but I'm not sure if I will. This takes place with my canon Inquisitor, Faen Lavellan and it's canon in my playthrough. This will heavily tie into the fic later to come about her.  
Please do enjoy!

Faen does not stir when he releases the latch. He remains quiet for a moment, listening intently for any signs that his position had been compromised. But all was still. She remained tangled in her sheets, asleep and dreaming.

He sets foot in her room. The room they once shared for so many months. It had been nearly a year since he had laid eyes on anything in here but every nook, every cranny was embossed in his mind permanently. The floor was still littered with discarded clothing. The desk was still overrun with abandoned scrolls. The bookshelf was still immaculate. And the bed, made of ancient and strong oak and the canopy of the finest linens, still remained. Provided her comfort and warmth where he could not. He recalled all the times they’d lain there together. Sometimes they would simply sit there in silence, wound up in each other’s warmth and embrace. Others, they would be involved in passionate lovemaking. There was neither now.

Faen slept alone. From all the accounts and reports received from his spies, she  _ was  _ alone. Of all the original inner circle, only Sera and Cassandra remained. That mattered little, for she still isolated herself from them. 

Deep in his heart, he knew why she chose isolation over the comforts of others. Him. What he had done to her. Though her exact reasoning was a mystery, Solas heavily suspected it was because he had left. And he could not blame her. He had done the same. In the beginning. Then she came along. Truly came along, nuzzled her way deep into his heart and soul and changed  _ everything.  _

What he did to her was, what he was  _ going  _ to do to her was regrettable, deplorable, unforgivable. He hated himself every waking moment for the merciless use of her heart. Was it merciless if he meant it? Yes, he decided. It was an utter act of cruelty to love her, knowing it could not last, knowing he would rip it away from her when she needed it most, knowing his end goals. But he could not help himself. In all her odd, ferocious glory had he been swept up. She was enthralling and irresistable. And he was weak. For all his supposed calculated wisdom, he was impulsive. 

She looked so peaceful, lying there. Her dark hair fanned out over the pillow like dark coils of silky seaweed. It had grown since he’d last seen her. Once, her hair was longer than it was now. But, in a sudden realization that long hair proved too dangerous in a fight, she haphazardly sheared it off. For a time, he had mourned running his fingers through those unruly locks. Then he realized how adorable the cut was. It made her look like an angry boy, yes, but she had her own way with it.

He moved closer to the bed, his footfalls silent. He needed to be closer to her. Needed to see her face in true detail, not a vision warped by the Fade. 

Her face was bare, as he had left it. But the nasty scar running from her cupid’s bow to the corner of her left eye was new. He frowned. He thoughtlessly cupped her face his hand, ran his thumb across the gnarled flesh, noting how it felt beneath the pad. Solas had done it without thinking and had to refrain from jerking his hand back. 

Still, she did not stir. He had forgotten how deeply she slept.

Slowly, so as not to wake her, he removed his hand from her face. Gently rested her head back against her pillow. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, at her side, admiring her, longing for her. But the faintest hint of the sun began peaking over the horizon, pink stains emanating from just beyond it. 

Oh, how he detested the idea of leaving. He wanted to stay here, rooted at her side, forever. But he could not, he knew that. And it  _ hurt.  _ His chest ached.

Foolishly, he leaned down, lightly buried his face in her messy locks. How he loved to pull on those locks, bare her throat and grasp it firmly in the palm of his hand. He inhaled deeply. The smell of sandalwood and spruce overcame him. 

Tears began to well in his eyes. They burned at the back of his throat. He had done many things since he had left. Screamed, thrown things, broke things, hit things. But he had never allowed himself to cry. 

_ Vhenan,  _ his thoughts cried in anguish. 

She winced. He quickly withdrew. Before he knew it, he was back at the doors to the balcony within a matter of seconds. He prepared to leave immediately. But she simply repositioned herself. Did not even wake.

He sighed in relief. He had overstayed his welcome.

He could not linger on this life anymore. So he left her as she had been. 


	2. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to write more. And I hurt my own feelings.

“That is not wise,” Venni informs him.

He can’t be bothered to give heed to her words. She has always been loyal agent, advised him according to his best interest. He suspects she has feelings for him. But she does not understand. No one could. He stares blankly out the open window, his thoughts far from this room. Far from this world.

“I am not a wise man, it would seem.” he says. “I am going. If anyone asks where I am, tell them I’m visiting an old friend.”

Venni’s expression hardens. Her lips compress into a thin line. “She will be your undoing,” she spits and storms out. 

_ She will. This much is true. _

___

Solas returns. Returns to the room where so many pleasant memories slept quietly. Again, his cover is darkness. He does the same as before: peers in through the stained glass and when all is well, he undoes the latch with a magic touch. 

Faen is not cocooned in sheets tonight. Tonight, she lies slouched over in the grand chair at her desk, clearly having fallen asleep in the middle of reading reports. 

He silently pads over to her side. Admires her features. Her cheekbones were always high but never this prominent. Has she been eating? He frowns. 

Her lips, so full and sharply carved, look irresistible but he restrains himself. He is a weak man, that much is known, but not  _ that  _ weak. He recalls all the time he’d captured them with his own, his tongue slipping past them to ravage her mouth. He recalls the taste of them. Would they still taste of mint?

He’s getting lost. He shakes his head slightly to clear his thoughts.

Instead, he turns his attention to the scrolls on her desks. He is a nosey man, atop of being a weak one. It seems as if she had organized her desk somewhat since the last time he was here. Reports were stacked haphazardly in one pile, complaints and requests in another, and the final stack…

A lump formed in his throat. He inhaled sharply. 

A pile of marriage proposals.

A hot spike of rage and jealousy shot through him. He knew he had absolutely no right to feel such a way but he did. He sifted through them, reading each one carefully. The requests came from men, and women, of noble birth from all over Thedas. The furthest was from the Anderfels. 

None of them had any right to ask for her hand in marriage. Just like he had no right to think and feel any of this. 

He closed his eyes, laid the stack of proposals down on the desk. He did not come here to pry into her affairs.

But then why did he come? To tear open old wounds? Pour salt into them until he could not stand the burn any longer? He was a sadist in bed but a masochist in the rest of life’s affairs.

Faen looked so uncomfortable sitting there. Her face was a mask of peace but her body, though he knew from experience was more than capable of taking quite the beating, looked wrong positioned like that.

Solas did something risky. Very risky. He lifted her from the chair, her body so terribly light and fragile in his arms, and carried her to her massive bed. 

She definitely was not eating as much as she should. 

She mumbled sweetly in her sleep, but it was beyond comprehension. Faen cuddled up into his warmth. 

His heart sobbed. 

Once at the edge of the bed, he gently detached her from him, laid her to rest upon the soft sheets. Instead of spreading out like one would expect in such a massive bed, she curled into a tiny ball, her knees coming to rest at her forehead. Solas knee that is how she preferred to sleep. He drew the blankets up around her to provide her with the warmth he could not. 

For a time, he sat there and watched her. He felt vaguely creepy but he could not help himself. He could not admire her in the waking state, so this would have to do. Before long, she began to twitch and whimper. He frowned. He recalled her suffering from awful nightmares. How could he forget all the countless times she awoke screaming or crying? Or all the times she thrashed restlessly? Solas feared this was the beginning of something awful. 

She began to mutter things. Things he could not catch. Her discomfort and obvious fear did not sit well with him. 

Carefully, he set a hand on her side, his fingers lightly digging into the supple flesh of her rib cage to anchor his magic into her. He closed his eyes and directed a spell of calming into her. 

The nightmare persisted, for she still twitched and whined. His frown deepened. Before, when they were together, his spells had always worked. But now…

She gave a final twitch, threw her head around, unfurled herself from her ball, and shot up wildly. 

Solas had an  _ instant  _ to formulate the spell to shield himself from her eyes. His heart thundered in his chest as panic set in. But he cast it. He wondered if it was too late, if she could hear his heart pounding away violently in his chest. 

Faen’s eyes her wild. Sweat glistened upon her skin. She panted fiercely. But she said nothing. Gave no indication that she had seen him. After a moment, she swallowed roughly and buried her head in her hands. 

Clearly, she was rattled. Severely so, for she shook. Solas wanted desperately to emerge from his invisibility. To gather her in his arms and kiss away the tears. But he could not. 

She snapped a flame to life at her bedside table, the candle flame dancing gently on the wick. Faen got up from the bed, slipped on a robe, and left the room. 

Solas finally breathed. 

Before she could return, he was gone. 

___

A week had passed since his last visit. In all truth, her suddenly waking had terrified him. More than he cared to admit. But she was irresistible. He could not stay away. 

There were too many concerns for him to stay away. 

He does not remember how he entered her room but he is there, standing in the silence of it. Tonight, she is in bed, her back turned to him. He carefully pads over to her side, as is his routine. Solas sits at the side of her bed. 

But something is wrong. Her form...it’s too stiff. Does not move when his weight is applied to the mattress. 

He closes his eyes, inhaled deeply and slowly through his nose. A pit of dread forms in his stomach.

“Hello, Faen.” He says.

She does not instantly emerge. He is not sure from where she watches but it is from somewhere dark. He does not turn to face her when she shows herself. 

The form of her lying in bed vanishes, in its place, a single charm. A glamour charm. He suspected as much. 

“Hello, Solas.” She says. 

He is ashamed of himself. For many things. Getting caught, for breaking her heart, for being outmaneuvered. 

“How did you know?” He asks weakly. 

“I saw you last time.” 

Ah. He had not been fast enough. 

“Why did you come?” She asks. 

He does not answer. Even he does not know. 

“Face me.” She demands, “You are many things. But you have always been respectful. Give me that respect now.”

Her voice...oh, her voice. He hears it in his dream but dreams lack the quality of reality. Slowly, he turns to face her. 

Awake, she seems different. Less peaceful, less soft. Before him stands a tired, starved woman. 

“ _ Vhenan,”  _ he whispers, standing, “You’re wasting away.”

He moves towards her but stops himself. He could not be certain she would appreciate his embrace. And besides, he did want to feel how frail she was. For the second time in several weeks, tears well up in his eyes.

“What do you care?” She asks. He detects no malice but he can’t be sure. She was always so difficult to read, even when she was completely open. 

“You might not believe it but I care. I always have,” he says.

“You obviously did not care enough to stay.”

He closes his eyes.  _ I cared  _ enough  _ to  _ leave.

“I had to.” He says.

Her mask of indifference falters. Her eyes glisten in the moonlight. She is on the verge of tears as well. 

“What have you done to yourself?” He whispers. He cannot stop himself when he raises his hand to cup her face. She struggles for a moment, debating on what to do. With great pain, she nuzzles into the palm of his hand. Tears fall, fat and steadily, down her cheeks.

“The dreams…” she says, “They hound me. Even when I wake…”

She sobs. “Why did you leave? I needed you.” She says, her small frame trembling.

He cannot speak. He would sob as well. 

“ _ Vhenan,  _ please.” He eventually mutters.

She presses on. “I needed you. Please, come back. I need you.” She cries. “Where were you?”

No, he can’t. He almost breaks. But whatever self control he has left rears its head. He cannot tell her here, not now. When he tells her,  _ he  _ will be in control. He will dictate the flow. He will be composed. 

“My love, I  _ can’t.”  _ He says. 

“You can! You’re able!” She says, “You just don’t want to. You’re an evil man. You mock me by coming here.”

She begins to beat upon his chest. 

The situation was never under his control but he’s under the impression whoever’s control it was under was quickly losing it. He could not take this torture any longer. 

“Please stop,” he begged, his own tears falling, “ _ Vhenan,  _ stop.”

She did not. So he did the only thing he could think of. He cast the most primaries of spells - sleep. She went limp in his arms, her eyes rolling back into her head. He placed her in her bed delicately. To remove her pain, he casted a spell to remove her most current memories. She could not wake with the knowledge she had. 

After the spell was completed, he pressed his forehead to hers, whispered a few elven words of great sorrow and regret. His lips graced hers, too afraid of the pain to fully take them. 

He left her. Again. 

___

Solas spent weeks concocting something to remedy her dreams. After its completion, he dispatched an agent of his to deliver it to her. Instructed them to worm their way into her life and allow for the close proximity required to dose her with it. He did not care about their methods, just so long as it was done. 

He could not do it himself. He never returned to Skyhold. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm horrible at describing scents but if you're curious as to what exactly Faen smells like, check out Sofia by Sofia Vergara. That's what I imagine she smells like.


End file.
